A Medic's Purpose
by Herr Doktor
Summary: ...Short...concise...sorry... T for minor language...though frankly most kids have heard enough swear words to put an adult to shame by the age of seven.


Crunching noises came from the blue medic's feet as he walked. This wasn't because it was fall. There were no dead leaves on the ground. The crunching was coming from a bloodied, severed hand. Some other unnamed body parts were strewn about as well, their bones fragmenting under the medic's callous boot. No need to respect THESE dead.

The medic smirked and looked down at the fleshy chunks in satisfaction. The red scout had been idiotic enough to run up to him, obviously thinking that all doctors were weak shriveled urchins that prodded you with needles. This doctor would prod you with needles too. Just in a lot more painful manner. The scout's body had been chopped to pieces, courtesy of the bone saw. He'd heard they found a replacement scout. Maybe he would not be so stupid.

The air was brisk and cold as the maniacal doctor strode past the buildings. Ahead, the sound of combat floated back to the medic.

_The healing is not nearly as rewarding as the hurting,_ the medic thought. What kind of doctor was this? Thiswas Herr Doktor, the German "doctor" who came from an area where Hippocratic oaths were…optional. No doubt you've heard of him. Many sneer at doctors. This doctor sneered at patients; if you could call someone you chopped to pieces a patient.

Lately though, the medic had been ever so slightly bothered. He'd begun to wonder what he was doing on the battlefield. Sure he enjoyed the rush of combat, which was in many ways, better than a drug. However, he was surrounded by men whose job was to instantly kill or blow to pieces an enemy. What was a _doctor_ doing out here? He tore his mind from the thought, then straightened his lab coat.

Bangs and screams reached the medic's ears. A grin spread across his face and his teeth shone white. Oh how he loved the screams that came from fighting, listening to his patient roar. Naturally, he could let the patient do all the work; is brilliant medi-gun was useful for sitting back. But where was the fun in that? The medic liked to peel away from his patient briefly, to find someone to plug full of syringes or amputate… forcefully.

Now though, it was time for the medic's mind to wander towards the battlefield. A bullet whizzed past, scraping the medic's cheek. His medi-pack glowed, and the wound sealed. Now, he gritted his teeth in a grimace, and ran forward.

"MEDIC!"

"DOCTOR!"

"Doc, get the fuck-AUGH!"

"MEDIC! GET YOUR SORRY-YEEEEAAAAGGGGHHH!"

So many cries, so many screams.

"Hehe…back to the welcome battlefield," the medic murmured softly. He heard a crackling noise behind him and saw the blue soldier. The supposed blue soldier. How many spies had he killed now? Seventeen? Well, there was a blue soldier standing in front of him, and one behind him. The one behind him had a knife in hand. Didn't take a genius to take a guess.

"Hello, Dummkopf!" the medic hissed.

The "soldier's" eyes widened, or at least you could guess that since his eyes were obscured by his ridiculous helm.

"Geh zur Hölle…" the medic grinned. "For you my friend, 'go to hell'"

The medic sliced at the soldier, cleaving his flesh from head to toe. The pearly white bone saw was splattered with red. The soldier keeled over, screaming. A white mist formed around the soldier, revealing a bleeding, soon to be dead spy. Slicing and hacking with a malicious glee only the medic could possess, he proceeded to separate sinew from bone, tendon from muscle.

"aaAAUUURRGHHhh…" the spy's cry trailed away. The corpse collapsed, now considerable desiccated.

"Ich langweile mich…How boring," the medic murmured. There were screams from his teammates, but the medic stood looking impassively. The scout was bleeding, but could wait. The sniper, of course, was hiding. The demoman was bleeding all over the place, but the medic was sure he could wait to. Now where was that heavy?

Scanning the field, the medic spotted the large man mowing down a small crowd of soldiers. Dashing over the medic swiped his medi-gun into position, and activated it. Blue rays washed over the heavy.

"THANK YOU DOCTOR!" the heavy roared. He didn't use any other voice in battle. Just roar. And yell. And scream and shout and…well you get it.

The medic was a whirlwind of death. With the heavy at his side, absorbing the worst of the shotgun pellets that flew all over, he was free to lash out at anyone who ran past him. His bonesaw rose and fell, glittering with blood and hacking in some strange bloody dance. He whipped out his syringe gun and shot a syringe straight into a soldier's eye.

Smiling, the medic proceeded to carve several interesting pattern's into the screaming man's chest.

"MEDIC! HELP!" the heavy roared, in that cut-off, Russian tone.

Swiveling his medi-gun to the heavy, he healed the massive, perhaps oversized, gargantuan man. His medi-gun ticked. Now was the uber-charge. The best part. And the most amusing part.

"Zis vill be most amusing…gehehehe…" the medic laughed. Flicking the switch, he watched the blue uber-charge flow over the heavy.

"GggyyyYYYYAAAAHH!" the heavy screamed. It doesn't take much to describe an uber-charged person. Try: glowy. Wait that's not a word. Eh, who cares, it's the heavy. He don't give a damn, to be frank.

The heavy lowered his minigun, which pounded out round after round of hideously fast bullets. Bullets that cost hundreds of dollars flew. The red people fell defeated, blood flowing from all over. Bullets flew through flesh. Eyes bulged as hearts beat final pulses. All the while, a grin was pasted on the medic's face.

The uber-charge lasted roughly fifteen seconds, during which the red scrambled for cover, difficult, seeing as there WAS no cover. They were mown down like grass before a lawn mower. Actually, like bugs before a nuclear bomb.

The heavy stomped towards all the men, ignoring the missiles and bullets that flew at him. A secondary stage sentry fired bullets hopelessly at the heavy. The ricochet off the glowing man. The engineer and turret both keeled over, full of bullet holes. The medic noticed he was now walking on blood, wet, slick blood that shone red. He smiled. A laugh bubbled out of his throat.

"Gehehehe…Hehehe…HA!"

When the uber-charge ended, there was seemingly only corpses. Then they heard a cry of alarm. A lone figure stood: the red medic.

The man was shaking slightly, the polar opposite for the blue medic, who was wearing different colours and wasn't afraid; he was smiling. The heavy took aim, but the blue medic held up a hand to stop him. All around, the blue team crept out of wherever they had hidden to watch the confrontation. They had hid during the charge, leaving it to their crazy Herr Doktor and heavy weapons man to clean up the red idiots.

The red medic stared wildly around at his fallen comrades. Then he turned and yelled defiantly, "Ich nehme dich mit mir!" He drew out a crusader's crossbow. At this distance it'd likely go straight through the blue medic's skull, seeing as the bolt gained force with distance.

"Take me with you? I think not," the blue medic said gleefully. He liked power, particularly against this red team idiot. The adjutants loved making videos, but all of them had been interviewing the red team. Thus an ingrained hatred of red team took seed in all blues. Now the heavy reared, hefting his sizeable gun, but the medic still restrained him.

He said to the trembling red medic, "Welche Farbe hat dein Blut? Wir werden bald sehen!" It meant, what colour is your blood? We'll soon see!

The red medic shot the bolt and ran. The shot went wild, not coming anywhere near the mark. In the back the sniper made a scathing comment. The blue medic told the others not to pursue, and the blue medic dashed after the red gloved man. Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, he found a crossbow aimed at his face. His eyes crossed to look at the bolt so precariously aimed at his nose. The red medic was panting, chest heaving, and he was glaring at the blue medic. His eyes were slightly crossed, adding a manic look to his eyes.

"You know that I'm ze better doctor," the red medic hissed. Beads of sweat appeared on the forehead. The kind of sweat you sweat when backed into a corner.

"No, I think not." the blue medic said, swatting the crossbow away. The red medic stepped back, as though burned.

The red medic looked fearful for a moment, before he adjusted his glasses and lashed out with his bone saw.

Eight guns fired simultaneously. Twenty nine bullets struck the medic's skull. The red medic's eyes rolled, and he collapsed.

"I said not to pursue," the medic growled to his teammates. The sniper had crawled onto a nearby roof. The others were clustered around a corner.

"Ye looked like ye were in a bit o' trouble!" the demo said. He had a borrowed shotgun in his hand.

"That there was a fine kill. Dang fine," the engineer muttered. He fingered his golden wrench.

"That was freaking awesome! Didja see all those bullets? Didja? I plugged that bastard with the most shots I tell ya!" the scout chattered. The medic wondered briefly if he could stitch the boy's mouth shut. It would do everyone a favor.

The medic sighed, and with his teammates, they strode away. As he looked around him at the fighting men, he thought about the medic's role on the field. He'd been thinking of it just before the massacre. Now he thought again.

_The medic,_ he thought, _is an important role, if I do say so myself. I heal, I think. That is a side effect of my…studies. I am here…for what? These others are all deadly…all monstrously powerful and bearing monster guns. Yet, I keep zem alive when zey are missing chunks of limbs, when zeir eyes get blown out. (A pity about demo. 'Loch ness monster' removed his eye a little too well. Don't ask me about his eyes.) Herr Doktor, stands here because…_

He let the thought trail off as he looked around mildly at his teammates. They were staring straight ahead as they headed off to rest. The medic looked at them all a while longer, and then decided his purpose. This manic man without any form of verifiable degree or license in medicine, was standing amongst these men for a reason.

_Because…the battlefield has fresh organs. Teammates to cover for me. Enemies to pluck blood samples from, and for me to shoot full of syringes. All in the name of science, I suppose. Perhaps I am getting a bit morbid...Me? Morbid? NAAAHHHHHHHH._


End file.
